


Awakening

by snowpuppies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Character Study, Dreams, F/F, Femslash, Poetry, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow has a revelation...eventually. Set between 4.09 - Something Blue and 4.20 - The Yoko Factor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: for the Comic Covers Ficathon, using the [Jo Chen cover for Goddesses and Monsters](http://www.comicartcommunity.com/gallery/details.php?image_id=35737) as a prompt.  
> A/N2: also for tamingthemuse, prompt #219 - Rune Stone
> 
> Beta'd by velvetwhip! *hugs and kisses* All mistakes are, of course, mine. :)

**Awakening**

  
Shadows. Dark and warm and  
rich in comfort and skin (smooth,  
pale and flawless like the waning moon)  
Drowning. Breathing in a mouth  
full (gushing forth like waterfalls,  
like blood behind her teeth) of need.  
Green. Green as grass (her eyes, coals,  
hypnotic, spinning like a glass,  
shattering pools of mercury, pyrite and  
amber)  
A touch against her skin.  
Falling.

(falling)

  
***

  
At first, she thinks nothing about it.

After all, what’s one weird dream in a Hellmouth full of them?

So she goes on: class, homework, chatting with Buffy about her psych class, research party with popcorn and tomes about the demon of the week.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

No big.

  
***

  
Breathless. Full of longing, want  
pulling her sideways into a wall  
of flesh (soft soft soft and skin skin  
skin, clean and fresh, new leaves in  
the spring falls early and hands and feet  
are at your ends) and she exhales.  
She (she she _she_. other.  
 _female_ ) smiles (holding her close)  
Close.

  
***

  
She begins to worry—just a little—when the dream repeats every night for a week.

And then when the mystery man is revealed to be a _woman_?

She smells witchery—and not done by herself…at least she hopes not—and she’s going to get to the bottom of it.

Because she may be kinda sorta Wiccan now, but she’s still a nice Jewish girl, in a way, and…and…Oz! and Xander!

And those freaky, disturbing dreams have to vamoose on the double.

She spends an afternoon researching dreams instead of writing her paper on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein—it’s not due for another two weeks, and she’s read it five times before, so she’s sure she’ll have enough time—and finds a simple spell to get rid of unwanted dreams.

All she needs is a rune stone for protection, a pinch of mugwort, the finely ground petals of three field daisies and a lighter.

She worries a bit about keeping her activities hidden; after the “my will be done” thing, Giles has been extra-frowny about the magicks and she’d rather avoid a confrontation with him if at all possible.

She picks out the supplies on her lunch break and sneaks down to the laundry room before classes the next morning; not a chance she would run into anyone there at that time.

Having combined the mugwort and daisy petals earlier, she pours them carefully into a small circle, setting the rune stone in the middle and lighting herbs on fire while she prays to the goddess for protection from nightmares.

In moments, the spellfire ceases and the room is filled with the clean scent of ozone and the barest hint of a vacuum. Blowing the ashes away, she picks the stone up and deposits it in her pocket before heading to class.

Mission accomplished.

  
***

  
Lips. Moist and soft and open  
against her skin (against her  
heart, beating in time to the spin of the  
earth on its axis, eternal and)  
unforgiving in their assault on  
her throat, gasping for breath.  
Fingers. Small and delicate,  
uncalloused, clean and between,  
behind and beside. Covering her  
(covering her) in touches ((caressing  
her inside and outside and (going)  
nowhere, pulls her closer))  
And she leans into the embrace.

(wanting)

  
***

  
Turns out, the rune had been mislabeled; she thought she was getting _algiz_ , the rune for protection and defense, but after some investigation, she discovers she’d picked up _dagaz_ , the rune for awakening and awareness.

She’s puzzled for a moment until she concludes that she really must have mis-cast the spell in some way.

She resolves to find a new spell to try as soon as possible.

But life on the Hellmouth is as unpredictable as always and she finds herself unable to speak, along with the entire population of Sunnydale. The Gentlemen are creepy as hell, all flashing silver teeth and yellow eyes and…manners?

Yup. Creepy.

So she runs, tugging Tara along to the vending room, magicks pulling at her skin as she tries to bar the door.

And then a hand, small and warm, slips into hers, palm soft and just a little damp against her skin, and she flushes head to toe and the vending machine flies against the door with practically no effort.

Panting, she glances at where her fingers are knotted together with Tara’s…with a _girl’s_.

Later that evening, she wonders if her spell worked better than she thought.

  
***

  
Curves. Breasts against her body,  
full and ripened in the sun like  
peaches (plums, pomegranates,  
nectarines; uncouth fruit references  
make sense) Now she reaches forward  
into the magick of the female form, a  
goddess, tart and sweet (like key lime pie)  
under her tongue. Mouth full of her skin  
cool and strange and then amber eyes  
blaze (against her belly, lower, between her thighs  
in a burst of flame) and turn blue.  
Blue.

(deeper)

She wonders if she has to wake.

  
***

  
Confusion boils in her gut when she wakes, wet and sticky against the sheets. She’s never thought about women before, other than in a friendly-type way.

Sure, she’s looked at the slope of Buffy’s neck and the curve of Amy’s legs in her cheerleader skirt, but that was normal, wasn’t it?

She thinks about Oz and his muscles, his broad chest and strong arms, the way he felt moving inside her, around her and under her, the feel of his stubble against her flesh.

She liked that, didn’t she?

He ripped her apart when he left, insides splattered on the highway like a melon that’s fallen off the back of a truck as it flies down the road. She loved him, of that she’s certain.

But the sex? It hadn’t been what she’d expected, but then, she figured it never was, not for anyone. She’d liked it well enough at the time, but was that because she’d built it up in her mind, or because it just wasn’t… _right_ for her?

She doesn’t know what it means that she’s not sure anymore.

  
***

  
Cries. Soft and gentle in her ear, breath  
warm and moist along her neck.  
Slickslipperywet against her fingers,  
succulent. ambrosia slipping down her  
throat full of _woman_ , envy fading to  
purity (pale pale pale skin against dark sheets) and  
she’s looking up with blue eyes full of  
Promises she knows she’ll keep (hold them  
close, inside her womb, inside her  
heart, her answer the same (every limb  
every breath, every strand of hair on her head  
replies)

((yes))

  
***

  
She _knows_ the instant she sees Oz again.

Just takes her a few days to admit things to herself.

A few days to feel the warmth and love and home and belonging…

…and the terror of losing it all.

  
“I’m gay,” she says to the mirror.

  
The girl looking back is the same…

  
…but the heart is fuller than it’s ever been.

  
Willow-in-the-mirror grins; she runs, hope’s wings lending speed to her feet, certainty a breastplate against the world.

Tara— _Tara_ —opens the door.

  
***

  
Tara’s kisses, soft as silk, sprinkle her  
chest, smooth cheeks against her  
breasts. Honey-gold hair falls into  
her face, filled with delight (love&laughter,  
love&longing, love&loyalty). She  
reaches for her girl ( _her girl. Hers_  
Now) She sinks, complete, and presses  
her mouth against her love.  
Sighing.

(fallen)

  
***

  
She wakes to a warm body in her arms, bright blue eyes gazing at her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Tara grins and the sun comes out.

Willow tugs until Tara rolls into her, naked legs and arms entangling. They kiss, sour with sleep but soft and wonderful and everything dreams are made of.

Then Tara ducks under the sheets and suddenly, the dreams fade from her mind.

Reality is _so_ much better.

  
 _FIN_.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/261577.html).


End file.
